The Dead Summer

by Helen Moorhouse

  She turned to walk away, her hip brushing against the bars of the cot as she did so and she heard a familiar noise – a plastic clicking in her pocket. She took the small collection of soothers out and placed them on the changing mat, high up on the changing unit. She looked at them, hesitated, and then picked them up again, putting them instead on the night table lower down.

  She glanced at the chimney-breast and thought for the first time since returning to Eyrie Farm about the small voice on Will’s recording. Had something genuinely awful been done here to a little boy by some man? Was this Mannion his dad, maybe? A grandfather? An uncle? Just some stranger? She still couldn’t quite believe it. What if this Mannion came back and tried to hurt Ruby? Mistook her for the other child perhaps . . .

  Martha turned suddenly to Will who was checking a small camera on the night table, training it on the soothers, separating them out individually. She grabbed his arm.

  “Please, Will, let me put her in my bed with me,” she pleaded, panicking at the idea of not being with Ruby.

  Will straightened and gently grasped Martha’s hand. “It’ll be fine,” he said, gently rubbing her fingers. “It’s really important that everything’s as normal.”

  “But –”

  “Come with me for a minute. Let me show you something.” He guided Martha gently from the room.

  She took a long look at her daughter with a worried face, but allowed herself to be led.

  Once on the landing, Will produced the parent unit of her baby monitor from a clip on his belt and pressed the switch. He must have brought it with him from the kitchen, thought Martha. All the little lights across the top of the unit suddenly came on at once, as they did when the unit was first switched on.

  Martha’s mind flashed back suddenly to the night in the conservatory with Sue. That growling noise, she recalled. Was that the start of all of this? She didn’t have time to think any further because Will was steering her down the stairs. She glanced behind her once, then they carried on downstairs, through the front door, and out to the open boot of Will’s car. Wires trailed from the boot through the letterbox. The boot was packed with equipment boxes and Will opened one to show Martha a laptop within. He lifted the screen, blank at first, and then it flashed into life. Martha leaned in further to see that the screen was split into four different sections. She recognised her kitchen in one, the dining room in another and the two top screens were her room and Ruby’s. She saw the sleeping form of her daughter in night vision, unmoving in her cot.

  “That screen doesn’t change,” said Will, tapping the image of the baby’s room. “Once you’ve gone to bed, then the screen showing your room won’t change either. I’ll be watching you both at all times, but I can only do that from out here and you can see how close I am if you need me.”

  Martha nodded. “What about the other rooms?”

  Will ran his fingers over the mouse pad and the two lower quarters of the screen flicked to the bathroom, the conservatory, the living room and then the dining area. “I can keep an eye on them from here – every room is monitored and I’m recording it all as well.”

  Martha noted three cables similar to the laptop cable stretching toward the house and assumed that there were more computers in other storage boxes.

  “I can analyse it afterwards,” said Will, “but for the time being I can watch you and Ruby constantly all night – if you want me to, that is?”

  “Of course! But Ruby’s the most important person here,” she said forcefully. She thought for a moment. “How will I . . .” she started and trailed off.

  “What?”

  “Well, how will I manage – I mean, you’ll look away . . . ?”

  “When you’re changing?” said Will, almost shyly.

  Martha flushed bright pink. “Umm, yes.”

  Will smiled. “Tell you what, when you go upstairs, go right up to the camera and give me the thumbs-up. I promise I’ll blank your screen and when you’re tucked up in bed just text me and I’ll get you back online right away. No funny business, I promise!”

  Martha smiled. “I don’t want to end up on Youtube in my jammies or anything,” she grinned.

  “Heaven forbid,” said Will and squeezed her arm. “Are you okay?”

  Martha looked back at the house. The summer dusk was falling. It was that time of evening where it was much brighter outside than in. The hallway looked dark and forbidding. She thought about her conversation with Gabriel earlier, tried to summon strength again from his words. She took a deep breath.

  “Not really,” she replied. “But Gabriel thinks that this is the right thing to do to help that little . . . boy.” It felt strange to talk about it after such a normal evening. “So I can’t not do it, can I?”

  Will smiled. “Good girl,” he said and gave her arm another reassuring squeeze. He unclipped the monitor from his belt and handed it to her. “With the knowledge of what you’ve experienced, I’m much more prepared now. Let’s do it then?”

  Martha breathed deeply and nodded.

  “Mind yourself,” said Will.

  “No, you mind me!” she replied and immediately felt foolish.

  Will looked at her, saw that she was tiny and vulnerable and impulsively wrapped her in a hug. She was crushed in his arms and breathed in his smell which was new and comforting at the same time. “I’ll mind you,” he said, and she felt momentarily safe. He released her from the hug. “I’ll mind you both.”

  Martha stepped back and turned to the front door, facing it head on. She stepped inside the hallway carefully and closed it behind her, alone again in the darkening hallway, with whatever, or whoever was sharing her home.

  She stood with her back to the front door and looked up the stairs and down the passage to the kitchen. She was aware that she was literally a few feet away from Will, but with the door closed behind her it felt like a million miles. She became aware that she could hear her breathing and, once aware of it, couldn’t block it out. In-out-in-out – she took a deep breath to try to calm herself.

  She didn’t want to move. Maybe if she stayed in this spot, close to safety, she would hear nothing. She then remembered the cameras and felt foolish knowing that there was a possibility that Will could see her. She took another deep breath and began to walk toward the kitchen. Act normal, she said to herself, glancing sideways into the open doorways along the passage, unable not to look yet terrified by the prospect of seeing anything.

  What would I normally do? she thought, keeping Will’s words in mind. Bottles, she thought. I’d normally do the bottles. She set to work at the sink, washing out dirty bottles and placing them in the steriliser. Then she washed up the dinner things while the bottles steam-sterilised in the microwave and boiled the kettle to make fresh ones.

  She left the steriliser to cool for a few moments before lifting the lid. When she did, a huge cloud of steam wafted out in her face and she stepped back a little to let it dissipate in the air. Suddenly, she froze. Out of the corner of her eye she saw a white shape float past her. Instinctively she spun around. Nothing. Of course it was just steam playing with her overactive imagination.

  Martha held her breath and scanned the room. Again, nothing. She glanced at the camera on the fridge, her heart pounding, and turned back toward the bottles. She knew that she had seen absolutely nothing but she couldn’t shake a feeling that there had been someone right behind her as she opened the steriliser. She carefully concentrated on the task at hand – measuring out the hot water into each bottle, assembling the various components that made them up – teat, collar, lid. When four of them were filled she left them neatly on the worktop to cool.

  Her next task was to tidy Ruby’s toys. She began to pick up various plastic bricks, teddies, books . . . She jumped again as a shadow moved across the wall beside her, but it was merely light reflected from a mirror attached to the tummy of a colourful stuffed duckling. Martha straightened her back and stretched it, willing herself
to get a grip, aware that her movements were being recorded.

  She glanced around the kitchen. There were no other jobs left to do there. Normally she’d check the locks on the doors before retiring to the living room or her study but Will had triple-checked them earlier to make sure there was no access from outside.

  What to do next, Martha thought. She poured herself another glass of wine, contemplated taking the bottle through to the living room with her and decided against it to keep her wits about her. She placed the cork back in the neck of the bottle, wedged it down, and made her way to the living room.

  Once inside, she turned on the big overhead light rather than one of her lamps and closed the curtains in the bay window, smiling in the general direction she thought that Will might be. With the light on, all she could see in the window was the reflection of the room behind her.

  Martha turned on the TV set and then sat down on the couch with the remote control in her hand. So far, so good, she thought, feeling the earlier glasses of wine begin to give her the Dutch courage she needed. She flicked through channels for a while, decided on the news and then couldn’t fully concentrate so she found an episode of Desperate Housewives and settled on that instead. She lost herself in back to back episodes, muting the TV occasionally to listen for noise in the rest of the house, constantly checking the monitor to make sure it was working properly. All was silent. There weren’t even the usual creaks that the cottage made as it settled for the night. Ruby too was calm, making Martha grateful that she was getting a peaceful night’s sleep.

  After a while watching TV, she found herself growing tired and lay down on the couch to stretch herself out, realising that all that time she had been virtually folded into a fixed position on the very corner of the couch, legs underneath her and arms folded across her chest. She was glad that Will had encouraged her to drink the wine – it certainly made her a lot calmer than she thought she would have been. Normally, she might have enjoyed a hot shower before bed but she was acutely aware that there was a camera trained on the bathroom and she didn’t entirely trust Will’s thumbs-up system. He had instructed her to act normally but the night was anything but.

  Martha yawned deeply. All the stress and effort was telling on her now. It was no good – she was going to have to go to bed. She would have loved to stay where she was, to doze on the sofa with the reassuring hum of the TV in the background but she knew she had to do what she normally did. She decided to do it quickly, like ripping off a plaster. She turned off the TV and left the room without a second glance.

  Her bedroom was freezing, the window still open, letting in the night air. She shut it quickly and pulled her curtains. Looking around her room, she was satisfied that nothing untoward had happened – so far anyway. She spotted the camera secured to the wall high up in the corner by the door and as agreed went right up to it and gave an enthusiastic thumbs-up. She wondered if Will had seen her and when he would blank out her screen – if at all. To give it more time, she crossed the landing, switching on the small lamp on the low table outside her room, and peered in at Ruby. To her relief, everything was fine. Nothing had been touched in the room – including the soothers on the small night table. That gave her the most relief, Martha realised. She retreated to her own room, undressing cautiously, like she might in a changing room at the gym – just in case – and climbed into bed.

  Martha thought about what to text Will. ‘In bed now, as if you don’t know’ was her first thought but she rejected it. The jokey tone in her head wouldn’t translate well into text and Will would think she was accusing him of being a pervert. Eventually she decided on ‘Ready’ and put the phone down on her bedside table before turning her back to the camera and lying down. She left her lamp on, certainly not brave enough to commit herself to the dark.

  The phone buzzed on the night table and Martha jumped. “Jesus, Will,” she muttered under her breath and then regretted it, remembering too late that the house was wired to record sound as well. She checked the text: “Try 2 gt sm sleep. Will. X” She noted the ‘X’ and smiled to herself. The text was brief. Was that just Will’s way, or was there perhaps something going on that she didn’t know about, that it would be best she slept through? Immediately her mind began to race. She thought about texting Will back to ask but didn’t. Why on earth would she want to risk getting an answer that told her anything other than that things were fine?

  She rolled onto her side again and stared at the wardrobe, and it was in this position that, despite herself, she fell asleep fifteen minutes later.

  Chapter 30

  July 15th

  In her dream, Martha was lying on her side in her bed in London. Dan had been out but she’d heard the bedroom door creak open, had heard his footsteps gingerly cross the room. She had a feeling of dread as he lifted the covers and climbed in beside her.

  The movement of the duvet was what woke her and she rushed back into herself from the dream. Her eyes flew open and she tried to focus on what was in front of her. It should have been the wardrobe.

  On the pillow, facing her directly, was a woman’s face. Martha could clearly make out short black hair, pudgy cheeks and the beginnings of a double chin. The duvet was spread across the two of them, causing it to be elevated in the centre and Martha was vaguely aware of being able to feel the length of a body in the bed beside her. She was completely confused. She blinked, lifted her head off the pillow and scrunched up her eyes. She opened them again. The face was still there, if anything closer to her own face, almost nose to nose.

  Martha jerked her head back, got a clearer look at the pasty, doughy skin, almost grey in colour and the deep-set dark eyes glaring back at her from under bushy brows.

  Then it dawned on Martha that although she could see and feel the clear physical shape of a person beside her, she could also see through the woman, could clearly make out the wardrobe and the wall behind her.

  Martha screamed – more of a yell than a scream – and propelled herself from the bed, throwing herself into a standing position. She turned back to face the bed. It was empty, but the figure was now standing beside it, facing Martha, mirroring her posture. Its mouth was now moving, but no sound emerged. Martha yelled again and made a dash for the door. Instantly the figure was in front of her again. Martha couldn’t fathom how it had moved – a black shadowy streak across the room from the bed to between Martha and the door handle.

  Martha could see what the woman was wearing – a plain, round-necked sweater over an old-fashioned pencil skirt, ruffled around the hem. Black shoes with thick heels about an inch high. At the same time she could clearly make out the door through her. In a split second it crossed her mind to wonder if she could put her hand through the woman as well.

  The woman’s mouth moved again. Panic rose higher and higher in Martha as the grey, pasty face drew nearer and nearer to her. She took a step back and the face remained as close as ever. Martha opened her mouth to scream again but stopped as she finally heard what the figure was saying in a low, rasping whisper.

  “Shut the brat up!” it hissed, the words not in synch with the movement of the mouth like a badly dubbed movie. “Shut it up! He won’t take me back if he hears the brat.” There was a vile stench from the figure, like rotten vegetables.

  Martha stepped back again, her breath shallow and coming so fast she thought her heart might explode. “Let me out!” she roared, her mind a jumble.

  The figure vanished instantly. Martha stared at the spot where it had been. She swivelled around and scanned the room. Nothing. All of a sudden she heard a squeal from Ruby’s room and then she heard her daughter start to cry.

  She lunged for the door handle, her mind again registering the rotten smell as she moved through where the figure had been. Ruby’s screams grew louder, the same cry that she made when she hurt herself, a terrible squeal followed by silence as she drew in a huge breath followed by a scream as she exhaled and the crying grew more pitiful.

  Mart
ha’s hand slipped on the door-handle – she was lathered in sweat underneath her pyjamas. “Come on!” she roared in desperation and tried the handle again. The door opened and she dashed across the landing, tripping as she went over the small table where the lamp stood. It had moved – been moved – from its position in the corner to the middle of the corridor floor. Like the buggy, thought Martha, as she caught it with her foot and spread her arms out to try to recover her balance. She didn’t fall, but the table did, clattering to the ground and bringing with it the lamp, the ceramic base shattering in pieces as it hit the floor. There was a loud bang as the light-bulb blew, followed by darkness.

  Martha reached out for the wall to steady herself. With her free arm she pushed the door of Ruby’s room wide open and managed to propel herself in. The moons and stars circled silently, as always, calm and restful, but Ruby lay in her cot, her arms and legs rigid and trembling. She was screaming now, rather than crying, and staring at the chimney-breast.

  Martha gathered her up in her arms, frantically shushing her and turning toward the doorway. Ruby remained rigid. It was then that Martha realised she could hear a scratching noise, not as loud as usual and not as fast but growing in speed and intensity. A loud crash from behind her made her turn suddenly in the direction that so fixated Ruby. The huge painting of the hare had tipped over and there was the figure again, at the chimney-breast, beating with its fists against the wall.

  Martha could clearly see the exposed brick through what still managed to look like a solid body. She was frozen to the spot, unable to take her eyes off the spectre pounding the wall, its hands moving so quickly they were a shady blur. Then the screaming started again, the same as she had heard it before – sobbing, gasping, squealing.

  “Go ‘way, Mannion!” it screamed this time, a child’s muffled voice as though coming from another room.

  Martha knew finally, for sure, that it wasn’t from another room. She knew exactly where it was coming from, knew that what Gabriel had said was irrefutably true.